


another forever

by dami_an, hitoshi (dami_an)



Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Decapitation, Drama & Romance, Dubious Morality, M/M, Murder, Mutilation, Questionable Moral Values, The Author Regrets Everything, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-01-16 20:46:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21277463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dami_an/pseuds/dami_an, https://archiveofourown.org/users/dami_an/pseuds/hitoshi
Summary: Hasn't realized until he cradles the face in his bleeding palm. Until his bloody fingers touch those thick lips.And.Those eyes snap open. Revealing a pair of magenta eyes, bright, glittering, like gemstones—or the cursed blood meeting the wretched blood





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **[Trigger Warnings]:** This story contains graphic details of various mature elements such as violence, murder, decapitation, mutilation, and questionable moral values. Please take note that the author does not condone nor support any of these elements. Wrong means wrong. No means no regardless of how twisted the reason is. The author would like to advise that the readers should take this story with a grain of salt.
> 
> Please read with caution. You may leave if it isn't your cup of tea.
> 
> **[Disclaimer]:** This story is entirely fictional and based on imagination only. Any similarities with actual individuals, alive or dead, settings and events are purely coincidental. The author also gains nothing but satisfaction from this story.
> 
> (and it doesn't reflect the author's state of mind, either)

There's a mansion on top of the hill on the outskirts of the Higanbana town. A lone residence. Belongs to the Lee family. 

From afar, it looks intimidating cradled in the creeping shadows of the trees. Up close, it appears rather quaint. Fine decor. White plaster wall design. Beautifully crafted columns. With a well-groomed garden breathing life to the mansion.

Though, it doesn't erase this doubt in his chest.

Song Minho worries at his lip. Feels the piercing on the bottom lip with his tongue. Maybe he should just leave. Just refuse the offer. This place reeks of something—something that he can't pinpoint. There must be a reason why this mansion is the talk of the town. Why people stay away from the properties.

But, urgh, life sucks balls. The living cost is choking him, and his job as an art restorer doesn't pay much, so Mino can't afford to be picky.

Even if it comes from a creepy mansion like this. Urgh, shitty luck.

With a deep breath, Mino rings the bell.

The intercom buzzes. "Who." 

The voice sounds tired. Mino hates to trouble people, so he quickly introduces himself, "Song Minho. The art restorer who applied for the job online? The employer said I should come today to take a look at the painting."

"Ah, right. I did say that—" A sigh. "—I'm sorry. I forgot. Please come in," and the sea-green gate clicks open.

The first step has Mino reconsidering his decision. Intensified by the sudden gust of wind. Dark clouds over the mansion. As though the world is warning him. Against him from taking another step.

He doesn't feel good too. Like there's an ominous feeling creeping up from the ground. From the mansion. Invisible claws tracing over the walls, in the garden, ready to lash out—

_—"Mino"—_

**CLANG!!**

The sound of the closing gate startles Mino out of his stupor. He blinks at the closed gate behind him. Again when it doesn't explain his confusion, then turns his head ahead to stare at the mansion.

Right. Painting. Job. Mino shakes his head, tugs at his key necklace, then walks ahead.

When the wooden door opens, Mino's breath catches.

The mansion is mesmerizing—something he usually sees in Elite magazines. The design gives an aristocratic elegance through the addition of a bold cornice and a crystal chandelier. The stone-floored entrance hall is lined with family portraits, hung frame to frame on the pale grey walls.

Elegance and yet... creepy. Mino swallows thickly.

A man in a buzz cut greets him, with a smile and handshake. "Hello, I'm Lee Seunghoon, the owner of this place."

Mino returns the handshake weakly. Lee Seunghoon's grey suit, paired with polished oxfords, makes him self-conscious about his appearance; a long-sleeve checkered shirt with a faded pair of blue jeans.

The difference in social status. Embarrassment burns Mino's cheeks. Mino slings his bag to the front like it's a pathetic shield.

"Uhm, hello, I'm, uh, Song Minho, here to, uh, work?"

"Thank you for accepting this job. You saved my life." Lee Seunghoon claps his upper arm. A smile curls on his lips. Warmly. Friendly. A complete opposite to the image this mansion conveys—cold and lifeless.

Mino titters, eyes down. "Uhm, could you please show me the painting?"

"But of course! It's in the study room on the west wing. Please follow me."

Lee Seunghoon leads the way, jumping from one topic to another to make conversation—"How was your travel? I imagine it was exhausting," and, "Not easy to find an art restorer these days." Mino half listens to the man, eyes searching for other signs of living in the mansion.

None to be found, though.

"Uhm, pardon my rudeness, but, uhm, where are the others?" Mino asks.

"Others?"

"Yes. Your family or—or servants? I don't know, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude."

"No, no, it's okay. I understand why you asked." Lee Seunghoon smiles, twirling around to meet Mino's eyes. He has the grace of a dancer in his twirl, Mino notes. "To answer your question, no. No servants, no family members. I live alone."

Mino blinks owlishly.

"Well, the housekeeper comes every Friday to clean the place and the gardener every Tuesday to groom the garden, but most of the time this place remains empty."

"But I was informed this is a family residence." Mino tips his head to the side, puzzled.

"This isn't the main residence," Lee Seunghoon answers, "My family asks me to watch over this mansion since I work here. There are times where I'm not at home for days because of my odd working hours, so I thought hiring servants would be a waste of money."

"I see." Mino nods. That explains the lifeless aura.

"We are here!"

The sunlit study room is a picture of calm, focus and inspiration. In the middle sits a mahogany table. On the left side is a bookshelf, lined with books while the opposite wall is a bay window, framed with maroon curtains to give a contrast colour to the white room.

"That's the painting." Lee Seunghoon points at the covered canvas sitting behind the table.

The canvas is wrapped in a ragged cloth. Mino frowns—irresponsible. Careless, even. The painting deserves better treatment. Annoyance ticks in his chest, but well. Painting preservation isn't common knowledge.

Mino puts on a pair of gloves, ready to examine the painting. His eyes dart around.

"You can use the table, I won't mind. I rarely use this space, anyway," Lee Seunghoon adds helpfully.

Oh. Okay.

Carefully, Mino places the painting on the table. With cautious fingers and deliberate peeling, he uncovers the canvas, one corner at a time. He tries not to mind the layer of dust on the cloth.

And—

Wow. Beautiful.

Pale skin, light-coloured hair, thick lips—it's a painting of a man sitting in a chair. Elegance in the lines, in the strokes, in the curve of his smile. The dark background emphasizes the red outfit, bright, beautiful, harmony, like a sunset bleeds into the night.

The painting isn't done, hinted by the messy black strokes on the feet, on the drawn curtains, the details of the curtains. But those aren't what caught Mino's attention in the first place.

No. It was the eyes. Glittering magenta. With a note of sparkles. As though those eyes were carved from gemstones. As though they house emotions and memories, a window to the past—

"Mino."

"Yes?" Mino snaps his head up at Lee Seunghoon.

Lee Seunghoon blinks. "Yes, what?"

"I thought I heard you calling me."

Confusion swims over Lee Seunghoon's face. "No, I didn't say anything."

"But I really—" and Mino stops himself. No need to dwell on things. Maybe it's just the wind. He returns to the painting. "How long has this painting been in your possession?"

"A long time, maybe? I'm not sure. I found this painting in the garden storage," Lee Seunghoon explains, gesturing at the window which overlooks the garden.

No sign of the building he mentioned, though. Mino makes a mental note to explore the garden if Lee Seunghoon permits. For precautionary purposes—in case there's an anomaly found on the painting.

"Have you asked your family?"

"No one really knows about its existence. Well, except for my great-grandmother, I think. She took care of this place before falling sick. I hate to bother her, though."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Mino says sincerely.

"Thanks for your concerns. Will it be a problem?" Lee Seunghoon asks.

"No, not really. So long as I perform a thorough examination with ultraviolet light, it won't be a problem," Mino assures, with a smile.

Relief is apparent in Lee Seunghoon's voice. "Glad to know. I'm not trying to rush you, but when can you start working on this painting? This painting is too beautiful to be stored in a dark place. Its restoration is long overdue."

Mino finds himself staring at those magenta eyes. Captivated. Entranced by the beauty.

By the untold stories in those eyes.

_—"forever"—_

"Beautiful indeed."

...

A door. 

There's a wooden door in front of him. Secured with a heavy lock. Looks old, the wood and steel, eaten by moisture and time. 

Mino examines his surroundings. He's on a flight of cobblestone stairs, lined with bricks. The emergency lights on the walls are the only source of light. Otherwise, he's surrounded by darkness.

He takes the lock into his hand. Stares at the keyhole. And catches a faint sound from the other side.

"—Mino."

His eyes snap open. Which is strange because he doesn't remember closing them. Instead of the lock, Mino is greeted with the sight of the ceiling in his room.

And of his housemate munching his way through a bowl of cereal in the doorway. Porcelain skin, a pair of eyes, a straight nose, pretty lips and silky hair—Kim Jinwoo is blessed with a good look.

Oh. It was a dream. Mino groans.

"Good morning, Princess Aurora," Jinu says, with a spoon in his mouth. "Your phone has been ringing since forever." He uses the spoon to point at Mino's phone on the bedside table.

Surprised, Mino rolls to his side and glances at the screen. The courier service. Shit. His eyes skim over time. Ten past eleven. Shit, shitty. He answers the call. "Hello—"

A long rant blasts out of the speaker. Mino finds himself putting the phone away in the distance to spare his eardrum.

"Yes, yes—I'm sorry, this—"

Turns out, it's not an easy task to slip a word in between an angry rambling. Mino bows a lot, out of pure reflex, even though the caller can't see him. He struggles to put on his clothes while cradling the phone on his shoulder.

Ten minutes later, Mino is running across the living room, cursing when he almost steps on Jhonny's tail, who sits idly by the couch. The cat hisses angrily.

"Whoa, sorry, sorry, princess! I didn't see you. Hi, Rei, Bei."

The Sphynx cats simply blink slowly at him under the table.

"Work on the weekend?" Jinu asks from the dining table. Mino sees cans of beer on the table and a cigarette between Jinu's fingers. And raises a brow.

Too early for drinking is never registered in Jinu's dictionary. It's a wonder how his liver remains functioning well with that much of alcohol consumption.

"Yea. The painting just came in." Mino slips his hand into the sleeve of his jacket, then adjusts the collar. He cranes his neck to peek at his reflection in the mirror. Mino brushes his hair with his fingers. 

The red colour looks good on him.

"Should I be expecting you to be away for days?" Jinu offers him a slice of bread. "I know you're already late but eat. Don't work on an empty stomach."

Like a kid, Mino chomps on the bread. Then steals a sip of Jinu's coffee while he's at it. He erects his spine back to say, "Nah, not an urgent restoration. The client is lenient this time. I think I'm gonna take my time to do this project."

"Good because really, you must fix your sleeping schedule. I see the dark circles under your eyes. Ugly as fuck."

Wow, words. But that's how Jinu shows his concerns. Mino smiles, not too wide, just a straight line of his lips to express his gratitude. "Thanks, hyung."

Mino takes the bus to get to the studio. Fewer passengers today. Lucky. He finds a seat at the back, hugs his bag and makes himself comfortable.

Eight stops later, Mino gets off. There's a bakery down the street. He buys himself three meat buns and a soda—never working on an empty stomach, Mino remembers Jinu saying.

At the studio, Jaehyun's sour mood greets him. "The painting's in your room. The courier was pissed when I had to sign the form in your stead."

Mino winces. "I'm sorry, hyung. I didn't mean to put you in trouble. I couldn't sleep well last night. Here, a token of apology." He offers a meat bun to Jaehyun.

Jaehyun's eyes move from the meat bun to Mino's guilty look back and forth. Then accepts it. He jerks his head inside. "Have you eaten? I was about to order jjajangmyeon."

"Your treat?" Mino tails him, like a little duckling.

"Don't be a little shit." Jaehyun playfully ruffles Mino's hair, with a grin.

Mino tries to duck away from Jaehyun's naughty hand. "It took me hours to style my hair!" and Jaehyun laughs.

Lunch is a calm affair, with Jaehyun sneaking in his complaints about his current project, hired by a famous gallery—"What did they expect? The painting was kept in the darkroom, exposed to moisture," and, "I tried my best, but they were being unrealistic." Mino occasionally replies with 'hum' while slurping his noodles.

Bellies filled with jjajangmyeon, they both return to their respective working station. Mino finds the painting on his working counter, wrapped neatly in a new cloth. Annoying courier but excellent service.

Can't have both in this life, can he.

He removes the cloth and damn, the painting never fails to steal his breath away. Mino backs away a little to admire it. The composition, the lighting, the colour blending from the dark background to the bright subject; it is perfect.

And those magenta eyes—no words can describe their beauty. Mino can't help getting sucked into those eyes.

Done admiring at the painting, Mino puts on his earphones then pulls out his tools. The first task; testing for dirt and oil contamination. Cotton and diluted detergent.

He pours the solution on the wool pad to clean a spot. And hears a light gust of wind. Mino snaps his head, looking around. The window is closed. In another corner, Jaehyun has headphones on, in his own music world as he works on his project.

...well. Mino goes back to the painting.

The painting had been left in a closed place for a long time. So no surprise to see dirt on it.

Art restoration is a delicate job, Mino often reminds himself. Paintings are relics of a bygone era, created to capture memories when cameras weren't invented yet. The painters gave their everything to produce such great masterpieces, so it's only polite to preserve them with the utmost care.

Two hours in, Mino stretches his stiff back. Rubs his tired eyes. And—

"Mino."

His eyes snap open in surprise. Searching for the voice. None to be found. Odd. He's been listening to music, how could he hear his name being called? Mino checks the playlist—Sunflower by Post Malone. No way his name would be included in the lyrics.

"I've missed you."

Mino turns to his right. That voice; so close. Like a person was flitting by behind him. Like—

—hands pulling him back into an embrace, thick lips grazing the shell of his ear, whispering, "Mi—"

A breath startles out of him, and Mino slaps a hand over his ear and another on his chest, checking if it's real. Nothing. His pulse races a mile an hour. His eyes are wide.

It doesn't make any sense. It felt so real. Too real—

"You okay?" Jaehyun asks, concerned.

Mino blinks. Rubs his mouth. Takes his time to reply, "Ye—yeah. Tired, I think?"

"Smoke break?"

"Yea. A good idea." Mino goes to his bag and fishes his cigarette box out. "10 minutes," he tells Jaehyun and walks out of the studio.

True to his promise, Mino only takes a 10-minute break, just enough to clear his head. Jaehyun has returned to his project, head bobbing to the music.

The painting remains undisturbed on the table. Only half of it had been tested. 

He should try to finish two tasks today—testing for dirt and oil contamination, and colour fade—even if his client is generous with the deadline. 

Dread slides through him. What if that voice whispers again? What if someone pulls—

No. Nonsense. He was just too tired. This job demands in-depth focus for a long time. He's bound to get exhausted. With a deep sigh, Mino goes back to his working station.

Fortunately, no abnormal disturbance this time. Only a quarter left. Mino adjusts his sleeves, eyes scanning over the painting to see if he missed any spot. 

Looking good so far. Mino wants to give himself a pat on the shoulder. He continues working on the painting.

Then a red mark. On the cotton pad. Mino blinks.

He dabs a new pad on the painting. And finds another red mark. Bizarre. Mino swipes two fingers on the same spot. Thick red liquid coats his fingers. He sniffs at it. And can't identify the scent.

Can't be colour paint—oil would be more slippery and reek, and others would've dried out by now, exposed to air for hours since he unwrapped the painting.

An accident by the courier, perhaps? Mino dials the courier's number immediately, heading out to the stairs for privacy.

The courier seems to have calmed down when Mino calls him despite some traces of dissatisfaction in his voice. Can't fault the courier when he was the one who didn't show up after arranging the meeting time.

No accident occurred, the courier claims. He even offers his video feed if Mino doesn't believe him. Mino politely refuses the offer, feeling bad for suspecting the courier.

Mino bites his inner cheek, thinking hard. Taps his foot on the floor while he scrolls down the contact list. And comes across Lee Seunghoon's number.

A minute of consideration later, Mino presses the green button.

The call is picked up after four rings. "Hello?"

"Hello, Seunghoon-sshi. It's Mino, Song Minho, the art restorer?"

"Ah, yes. Is this about the painting?" Lee Seunghoon asks.

"Yes, regarding the painting," Mino sucks in a breath, calculating, "I found some red marks on the painting. Nothing serious, I believe, but I'd like to eliminate some possibilities here. Could you spare some time to answer my questions?"

"Of course. Of course. Uhm, wait—" Mino can hear the background noise segueing from loud to quiet. "—okay, better now. Sorry about that. Please carry on."

"How was the painting's condition when you found it?"

Lee Seunghoon hums. "Just like how I showed it to you."

"How about the room you found the painting in—the garden storage, if I'm not mistaken," Mino frowns trying to recall the information piece.

"I found it far at the back, so it was dark at that time. I couldn't be so sure of the place. Maybe there was something, maybe not—I'm not sure," Lee Seunghoon hums, "Would you like to see the place?"

Mino blinks. "Pardon?"

"I don't think I can be of much help. If you need to examine the place, please do so. I wouldn't be around, though, since I'm attending my great-grandmother's funeral."

Regret fills Mino's chest. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I can imagine she was a great woman."

"Thank you for your condolences," Lee Seunghoon says, with a note of wistfulness. "The painting?"

"I think it'd be okay if I didn't examine the place. It'd be sufficed if I just performed more tests. I'm sure I could come up with a decent result somehow."

"It puts me at ease to know if I could ease your work anyhow." Mino can hear a smile in Lee Seunghoon's voice. He can't turn down the offer now, can he?

"I can wait until you come back," Mino tries.

"No worries," Lee Seunghoon assures him. "You can come on Tuesday. I'll inform my gardener. He has access to the back gate and the storage room. Will that be okay?"

Mino considers. Then agrees because why not—he's free on Tuesday. "Tuesday would be great. Thank you so much for the offer."

"You're welcome!" and Lee Seunghoon ends the call.

He stares at his phone. Gives the offer a second thought because, really, it was unnecessary to go to great lengths when he has all the tools to perform more tests. Lee Seunghoon wouldn't be opposed to paying extra for a satisfying result.

Well.

Mino shrugs and goes back inside.

...

He's seated at a low table. The room is lit with an oil lamp on the table. 

His fingers turn the knob on the lamp, making it burn brighter. Men are sitting in front of him. Clad in hanbok. Expensive hanbok, with fine print that shows their status.

"He's becoming too strong," one of them says.

"—uncontrollable—" says another.

"—concerns about our safety—"

"—fear—"

"—threat to our power—"

Voices overlap one after another. He can hear grim in them. Concerns. Fear. Even a tad of jealousy. But he doesn't know why he's listening to these old farts when the one he should've been—

**RING!!!**

An alarm ring startles Mino out of his dream. This time he's blinking at the window instead of at the ceiling. And at Jhonny sleeping under the curtain. Oh, wow. Okay. Mino rolls to his back after switching off the alarm, tired.

Right. The mansion.

Mino climbs out of bed to get ready despite the exhaustion pulling at his bones.

...

The gardener is an old man. His skin is tanned by the sun over the years, wrapped tightly around the bones as though he never indulges himself in a feast. When he smiles that warm grin, Mino can see some of his yellow teeth missing.

"I'm sorry I don't have access to the main gain. But if you follow these walls, it will lead you to the back gate." The gardener points at the walls.

"Sure, thanks." Mino nods once then begins his short walking to the back gate.

The gardener is already waiting for him by the time he reaches there. It shares a similar design to the front gate; a sea-green shade, with a golden swirling pattern. He unlocks the gate for Mino.

"Thank you so much," Mino says again, out of politeness, and ducks inside.

"Boss said you're here to take a look at the storage room."

"Yes."

"Please follow me. I'll show you the storage room."

Obediently, Mino follows the gardener. He never admired the garden before, so he's sure taking this chance now.

The garden is one of a kind, Mino realizes. Red spider lilies paint the garden red, so bright it's reflected on his skin. When Mino walks through the garden, it feels as if he's walking in a lake of blood.

While some might find the view haunting, Mino finds serenity in it. Bathed in red. Right where he belongs—

"Here," the man says, jarring Mino out of his thoughts.

The garden storage is a refreshing contrast to the red garden. White exterior, with a touch of Western design. Mino can see creepers too, making it look unique rather than old and not well taken care of.

"It's quite huge if you go inside, so I don't clean the entire room." The gardener busies himself with the lock. "Boss doesn't mind since no one comes here. So long as I keep the upfront neat and tidy, Boss doesn't complain."

"He seems to have a thing for making the job easier for people," Mino says, with a smile.

"That he does." The gardener laughs. The door creaks open, and he flicks a switch. Yellow light floods the room. The old furniture is arranged nicely; chairs, tables, vases, China sets, even wardrobes. Some are covered in white cloth. Some are boxed. Many are left exposed to the air.

Mino pokes his head inside. Wrinkles his nose when he feels dust filtering in the air, and rubs his nose, slightly annoyed.

"You need my help to go through those?"

"No, thank you. I think I can manage it by myself."

"Alright. Holler if you need anything else. I'll be around here." The gardener pats him on the back. Mino mutters a garbled thank you under his breath, with a smile.

The gardener leaves him. Mino recalls Lee Seunghoon found the painting far at the back, so he skips the front. Upon first glance, he can see evidence of the room being left untouched for a long time.

Mino goes through every possible spot where Lee Seunghoon found the painting; the corner, behind a wardrobe, between the Ottoman chairs.

By the time he sweeps half of the room, he has dirt on his knees and palms. Mino huffs a breath, hands on his hips as he scans around his surroundings.

A footprint near a foyer table draws his attention. With a frown, Mino crouches down and flashes his phone light on it.

Multiple footprints, but disappear after a certain point. As though they float somewhere, or they fall into—

A fine line. There's a fine line. Formed into a rectangle. Difficult to detect in a glance. The discovery fills Mino with curiosity. He squints, sweeping his gaze around to see if—aha!

There is it. The handle, under a bedside table. Mino gets back to feet to move the table elsewhere. He clears off some furniture to be able to move freely. 

A bigger picture now, Mino sighs. Maybe it's a bunker down here or a wine cellar—he isn't sure, but the footprints hint at frequent visits. Perhaps Lee Seunghoon found the painting down here.

Mino wrenches the door open, with some effort. The hinge creaks. The sounds of 'clack' then of electricity running almost has Mino releasing the handle. He notices light spilling from the door.

Oh. Emergency lamps activated by motion sensors. Cool.

He opens the door wide. Finds a flight of stairs leading down. Peeks down. Feel eeriness crawl up his skin like ants. Or centipedes—no, Mino never experiences a centipede crawling up his body and hopes it stays that way.

Maybe he should stop here. Perhaps he should call the gardener for help. Maybe—

_"—together, forever—"_

Mino takes the first step down. Then another. And another. And another.

Until he doesn't have to duck his head to avoid the low ceiling.

Mino examines his surroundings. He's on a flight of cobblestone stairs, lined with bricks. Mino balances his steps with a palm on the wall. The emergency lights on the walls are the only source of light. Otherwise, he's surrounded by darkness.

He checks his phone. Still has the line, though, the strength of the connection has been decreased slightly. Okay, he can call the emergency number should anything happen. With a shadow of doubts in his pounding chest, Mino continues.

A door. 

There's a wooden door in front of him. Secured with a heavy lock, though it's left unlocked. Looks old, the wood and steel, eaten by moisture and time. 

Mino reaches for the lock. Stops midway, doubtful. Feels something tug at his chest not to touch the lock. Not to—

_"—need—"_

He takes the lock into his hand. Stares at the keyhole. And catches a faint sound from the other side. Can't make out the sound produced.

_"—protect—"_

Ignoring the constant alarm in his brain, Mino unlocks the door. He yanks the lock handle and pulls the door open. Instantly his nose is flooded with the scent of moist.

A round room. Built with cobblestones and clay. Four emergency lights light up the room, focused on the middle of the room, on broken red shards standing like a prison, on a—

Mino sucks in a sharp breath.

A person. In the prison of the broken shards lays a man. Eyes closed. In bright red clothes, with light hair—

His heart pounds loudly in his ears. His palms are sweaty when Mino cups them over his mouth. It's the man in the painting.

Several questions flicker in his mind. Who is this man? Why is he here? Is he okay? Has Lee Seunghoon been keeping this man captive? What should he do? Should he call the gardener for help? Should he flee—

_"—together—"_

Fuck it, Mino thinks. He needs to check on the man first. If he's still breathing or if he's still alive—

—because he's promised to—

In his haste to help the man, Mino hasn't realized his right palm grazing the shard. Hasn't realized his palm bleeding. Hasn't realized blood dripping down his sleeve.

Hasn't realized until he cradles the face in his bleeding palm. Until his bloody fingers touch those thick lips.

And.

Those eyes snap open. Revealing a pair of magenta eyes, bright, glittering, like gemstones—

Sharp claws yank at his shoulder down. Then.

An explosive, intense pain. On his jugular. So deep. So intense, so—

PaaaaaaaaAAAAAIIIIINNNNNsomuchsomuchsomuchPAAAAiiiNNNN—

Mino blacks out.

...

He wakes to a burning scent and screaming. The flight instincts have Mino sitting up quickly, eyes scanning his surroundings.

Gone the dim room. Gone the cobblestone stairs. Everything is bright now, but not a good sign.

Red. Orange. Black. Colours of wrath. Of death. Fire and destruction. Murky skies and devastation. Smoke and suffering. Agonized screaming tears the suffocating air asunder.

Mino knits his brows into a frown. What happened while he was unconscious? What—

He slaps his left hand on the pulse. No blood. Strange. He's sure he was bitten on the jugular.

His hand bumps against something. Mino looks at his right. A pair of lifeless eyes stare back at him, and he flinches away, only to have him bumping against another dead body on his left.

What the fucking fuck—

Then only he realizes. He's in a pool of blood, surrounded by dead bodies. Some have faces destroyed beyond recognition. Some have guts spilling out. Mutilated bodies. Eyeballs. A pool of red. Like red spider lilies—Higanbana in another language, a flower of death.

And in the midst of those dead bodies—in the midst of death and destruction, a man twirls around, arms spread, his legs soaking in blood like a kid splashes his feet on a puddle.

As though he's enjoying himself. Celebrating their deaths.

Mino swallows thickly. Frozen to his spot.

Then the man stops. Stops twirling. Like he's sensed Mino somehow. Or has eyes on the back of his head. And turns around.

Wha—

His magenta eyes glint in the red shade from the flame.

Out of fear, Mino backs away a little. His heart thunders faster in his ribcage. Everything screams at him, the voices inside his head, the alarms inside of him—screams at him to flee, to.

To.

The man smiles a bloody smile, with a slight tilt of his head. And says, "Why are you so scared of me? Didn't you promise me we'd be together forever? And another forever?"

—no


	2. Chapter 2

The tip of the iceberg. That is how Kim Jinwoo would describe this world.

This world holds many secrets; the infamous dark web, even superpowers. The latter is often treated as folklore. Or fantasy. Adapted in comics and novels to quench the desire to have a superpower.

Little do they know that superpowers do exist, lurking in the corner, even walking in daylight, and Jinu knows this because he is one of them.

Monsters, freaks—or nowadays, Anomalies as they were coined to describe the anomaly found in their genes which then grants them the superpower.

No one knows the exact date when the first Anomaly was found. The earliest transcripts were dated at least four hundred years ago, and most of them agonized over the devastation Wretched Blood brought upon their land.

Jinu shivers to recall the cursed name; Wretched Blood.

Wretched Blood—the strongest Anomaly ever recorded in history, born to destroy and kill, then cursed to sleep because no one could stop him.

Who should've been stayed asleep but now awaken, and Jinu knows this because the recent earthquake wasn't the doing of Mother Nature. No. The epicentre was in Higanbana town, a place where no clashing earth plates were claimed discovered.

And that enormous cross-sectional crack, so huge it destroyed a mansion. The casualties reported—it didn't add up as the seismographs only recorded 5.9 Richter scale. The impact shouldn't be this devastating.

'Red lakes, bloody pools, burning flesh,' common words uttered by the survivors Jinu found on the net. More than enough to ring the alarms. Jinu clicks his phone off, on high alerts.

Driven with urgency, Jinu sprints out of the convenience store through the back door. He shrugs off his jacket, rolls his shoulders, and with the force of his muscles, he's curled into himself, bearing the pain of broken bones, of stretching muscles and skin through his gritting teeth—

Then.

Wings. 

Two pairs of white wings, with a hint of light blue on the tips. Jinu looks up at the heavens. And sees birds cruise over in the wind.

He stretches them out, feeling the slightest movement of the wind on the sensitive tips, and.

Takes the flight. Up to the blue sky. To the headquarters.

...  
  


"No—" is the only word Mino manages before he gets thrown off on the ground, hard. The impact hurts his tailbone, but the flight instincts win over that he scrambles to his feet right away.

Only to be tripped by wild roots, and Mino falls again.

The sound of a broken twig has him whirling around, teary eyes on the man who brought him here, in the middle of a thick forest, surrounded by trees and darkness, as the sun is beginning to sink low in the horizon.

Who is responsible for the devastation in Higanbana town. Who is coated in the blood of the innocent souls.

Mino shakes with fear. His voice is broken, filled with sobs as he pleads for his life, "I'm sorry—please don't hurt me. I know nothing—please let me go. I promise I won't tell anyone—just let me go, please, please—"

The red man is quiet. Tips his head to the side. Then crouches down to be at Mino's eye level. His magenta eyes are so bright that Mino trembles under his scrutiny.

His bloody hand reaches for Mino's cheek. Mino flinches but forces himself to stay still, fear for his safety even though his entire body is screaming to flee.

"I will never hurt you," the man says. 

When his hand touches Mino's skin, it's surprisingly warm, albeit sleek from the blood. He can feel those sharp nails graze his cheek, not too deep they draw blood, just enough for him to be aware of their sharpness.

"Not like this," the man breathes then smears blood across Mino's bottom lip with his thumb, "Not like this," and rises to his feet again.

He can't read the man, not when the man is looking away, with a shadow over his face. In the dark, the glint in his magenta eyes appears menacing. Reminds Mino of the monster in the closet he used to believe while he was still young.

Escaping seems not an option.

Yes, he's clueless about the man's capability, but Mino is aware of the risks. He can't afford to act reckless, not after he witnessed the red man yanking the spine out of a poor man like a twig.

And the wiggling red things behind the man, the thing had been carrying him—two tails? Mino isn't sure, and yet he knows they could pierce his flesh in the blink of an eye like meat on a skewer.

Escaping seems not an option. But so does staying.

"Can you... let me go?" Mino tries, with a tad of bravery left in him. "Please? I won't tell anyone—I just—"

And he's cut off by one of the tails stabbing into the ground, quick, between his legs, just a second after Mino parted his legs open in pure reflex. The tail is twice the size of his thighs combined. Huge. Sweat beads his forehead. His heartbeat is loud in his eardrums as Mino stares at the red appendage, shell-shocked.

Close. Too fucking close.

When Mino looks up, he's met with a sharp glare, magenta eyes glowing in the dark.

"No running away. You're mine," the man says.

Mino swallows thickly. Well. Shit.

But still. 

"Can I—at least, uhm, walk by myself? I mean, your tail hurt me—I, uh, please? I, uhm, I can walk in front of you so you can see me. I won't run away—please?" Mino bargains, his voice shaky from fear. 

By all means, Mino is no survival expert. Yet, he knows the restraint decreases his chance to flee. While he has no ideas about how to escape from the psychopath, the least he can do is to create some distance between them. 

A beat of silence. Then, "Alright."

Okay. Great.

With the support from a tree nearby, Mino gets to his shaky feet, eyes down as not to clash with that piercing gaze. He dusts his butt off. Feels something in the back pocket of his jeans. And recalls his handphone kept there.

Wow. Lucky.

Mino sneaks a glance at the man. The man is busy examining their radius. Quickly, Mino slips his handphone into his hands. Then whirls around to the front when the man has his eyes off him, the phone hidden in the midriff.

"Where... to?" Mino asks shakily. His hands are clammy.

"Ahead."

Vague, but well, okay. Eyes lowered to the ground, Mino takes a step forward, mindful of the twigs on the ground.

At least he has a flicker of hope now. In his hands.

...  
  


The Taketori headquarters are located away from the bustling city. Tall buildings like jagged teeth, design inspired by bamboo trees, at first glance, people have often mistaken it as federal buildings equipped with research facilities.

Jinu lands in a secluded area near the east gate, surrounded with the bamboo grove. He folds his wings, then wills his abnormal cells to degenerate. No matter how many times he's done this, he'd never get used to the excruciating pain.

Not for long, gone are the wings. Only torn holes remain. Sure, wings are great for mobility. The downside? Wardrobe malfunction.

With a cluck of annoyance, Jinu makes his way to the gate. The security guard, armed with a gun, keeps a close eye on him while he presses his thumb on the scanner at the gate post for identification.

Done thumbprint, next is retina scanning, and Jinu passes both. The security guard gives him a curt nod, to which he replies with a similar gesture before he enters the facility.

As expected, the foyer is thronged with agents. In the cafeteria. Even in the pantry. Filled with agents. While most are wearing casual outfits, a telltale of their urgency to present at the headquarters, some are clad in the official uniform; a tailored suit, which has two golden bamboo shoots emblazoned on the left chest. 

The Higanbana incident definitely flags up their warning alarms.

Jinu wonders how is the situation in the Oval office. Must be hectic. As a low-tier agent, merely at the Platinum rank, he has no access to the office. Limited access to the information. Prepared to receive orders from higher up.

"Jinu!"

A cheery voice has Jinu turning his head to the right. Among the sea of agents, he spots a pair of twins bounding over towards him. The famous Kwon twins for their bright personality; Yongduk and Yongdon.

Trepidation inside him vanishes upon their arrival. Being an Anomaly is difficult even though their organization was founded mainly to help his kind. 

Violent, uncontrollable, freaks of Nature—negative stereotypes of his kind have been passed down from generation to generation. It doesn't help his case either when the organization is dominated by Norms.

But there are exceptions among them. Like the Kwon twins. Bright smiles, their eyes don't harbour any discrimination towards his kind.

"Hyung," Jinu greets back, with a warm smile.

"How long has it been?" Yongdon, the light-haired one, claps him on the upper arm.

"Been 3 months since I moved to another division, hyung. It wasn't that long." Jinu laughs. 

"Still." Yongduk runs his fingers through his dark brown hair. "Got any idea what's going on? We know about WB's awakening, sure, but how did that happen? What triggered his awakening?"

"No clue. As far as I know, a team was sent to Higanbana town to investigate. No words from them yet apart from the casualty report." Jinu sighs.

Yongdon leans closer into their small circle, half whispering, "Is that true, then? That WB can manipulate blood? Some claimed he's an immortal."

"About blood manipulation—I believe it's true. The transcripts from Karakuri town mentioned it quite often. About how WB drew blood from his victims to make weapons out of them. About how bloody arrows rained down the battlefield every time WB made his presence known." Yongduk throws in his input, arms folded over his chest. "But there's no record on immortality."

Jinu hums, thinking. "There's a possibility of him being an immortal. He'd been asleep for hundreds of years. Unless the curse prevented him from dying, he could be an immortal." 

"Quite unfair for Norms like us, don't you think?" 

A feminine voice cuts through their personal bubble. Jinu snaps his head up, only to see a stunning woman in a long tortilla coat, walking steadily towards them, with the help of two bodyguards clearing a path for her.

Oh, shit. One of the high-ranked agents, Lee Chaerin. Jinu finds himself lowering his eyes down to her yellow high-heels, aware of his low-tier rank and wardrobe malfunction. He can't even give a shit about the shifty looks thrown in his direction.

Bless Yongduk's bravery, he says politely, "To what do we owe this pleasure, Chaerin-sunbaenim?"

Lee Chaerin fixes a polite smile on her face. Her smokey eyes dart from one face to another. Then, "I'm sure you've caught the gist of our current situation. So let me cut to the chase—Kim Jinwoo, we're going to need your flying ability to aid us in this endeavour. Therefore, you're promoted to the Diamond rank, effectively this morning."

At first, it's silence. Deafening silence. As though no one breathes in the room even if Jinu is aware of the shifty looks around him. Then a stream of whispers, while Jinu remains in his surprised state, wide-eyed, trying to digest the information. 

This is...

Only a congratulatory slap on his back from Yongdon snaps Jinu out of his stupor. He opens his mouth. Closes it shut. And, "I'm not sure if I follow..."

"In light of the current situation, we're going to need as many as Anomalies we can get. Every Anomaly, regardless of ability, is taken into consideration. You may expect to hear more promotions today. And when I came across your file," Lee Chaerin pauses, eyes sweeping down Jinu's profile. "I know we're going to need your ability as well."

"Oh, okay." Jinu isn't sure if he feels disappointed in the knowledge of Anomalies getting promoted due to the circumstances.

Lee Chaerin lifts his chin up with her thumb. "Chin up and welcome this with open arms. You have more responsibilities now."

That's true. No use in willowing over it. They have another important matter to address. His feeling doesn’t matter.

Chest up, gaze firm, Jinu nods affirmatively, "Yes, sunbaenim—" only to have it getting cut off by a loud notification from his handphone. Flustered, Jinu takes his phone out of his back pocket, with a garbled apology.

A text. From—

Lee Chaerin is exchanging pleasantries with the twins, warm and friendly as if there's no huge gap in ranking between them. As if Lee Chaerin isn't bothered by the ranking system at all. The twins really enjoy the conversation.

And really, Jinu could've joined the conversation as well. He could've joined if he wasn't too disturbed by the text.

"Sunbaenim, can you—can," Jinu stutters, breaking out into a cold sweat, eyes fixed on the screen, "Wretched Blood—his outfit, was there any mention of his outfit being red?"

"Yes. The Hanamori transcripts." Lee Chaerin nods.

"Light hair?"

"Yes."

"Magenta eyes?"

"Yes." This time, a frown graces Lee Chaerin's face.

"Jinu, something's wrong?" Yongduk peers at his pale face, a reassuring hand on Jinu's back. "Hey, you okay?"

"I—I don't know, but this—"

And Jinu shows them the text, sent by his housemate, Mino, with a photo of a man, unaware of his picture being taken by him.

Light hair, red outfit, and—

Magenta eyes. 

Wretched Blood is with Song Minho. 

Well, fuck.

  
  


...

  
  


Relying on the moonlight to navigate himself around the forest, Mino keeps his pace slow and careful, as not to trip over wild roots. 

Also, as to slow their pace down so anyone could catch up with them and rescue him from this psychopath, but the red man behind him doesn't know that. Mino wishes to keep him in the dark too.

Still, he's just a human. No food and drink intake since the psychopath took him away. No resting, either. He's exhausted both physically and mentally. Trepidation never leaves him alone. Mino has lost count how many times he jumped at simple noises.

Bone-tired, Mino leans his side against a trunk. It has mold on it, slippery and wet. His nose wrinkles at the damp scent but fuck it, he's tired.

"We should be moving," the man says disapprovingly. His glare is sharp. Demands his submissiveness, and yet Mino couldn't care less. He wouldn't take another step even if the man threatened him with those wiggling tails.

Mino slides down the trunk. Then turns around to face the man. "Am not like you, whatever weird creature you are. I need to rest."

"I could carry you." The man raises a brow. In response, his red tails open up like a blooming red flower. Like a blooming Higanbana.

At that suggestion, Mino blanches. No, he doesn't want to be restrained by that wriggling tail again. No, no. It could feel the shape of his phone tucked in his back pocket. He can't let the man take his last speck of hope.

"No, please, no—I can't," Mino pleads, "My arms, bruises—they hurt a lot. 5 minutes—I won't ask longer than 5 minutes. Allow me to rest 5 minutes, and I won't ask any more for the rest of the night. Please."

The man stares. Tips his head to the side. His expression is unreadable. Almost stoic. Mino thinks he has lost all hope when the man suddenly turns away, with a mutter of "Okay."

Even if Mino doesn't know what's on the man's mind, relief fills his chest. And the sense of temporary security, combined with exhaustion from constant trepidation since early evening, lulls him to a fitful sleep.

  
  


...

  
  


There's a kid. 

In the clearing of the woods, under the bright sunlight, there's a kid. Fixated on a single flower, pink petals with yellow at the centre.

He stares. Watches the kid lost in the world of the pink flower. Then calls the kid, "Hey."

The kid looks up, magenta eyes are bright and innocent—

  
  


...

  
  


Only to awake abruptly to the sound of shouting and chaos. Disoriented, Mino blinks at the blurry figure ahead of him, wriggling red appendages slashing around as if attacking something.

—right, the red man, with magenta eyes—

One of the tails surges towards him. Too fast that Mino can't react when it wraps around him and yanks him close behind the red man. Mino attempts to free himself but to no avail. The restraint is so tight that it makes him breathless. 

Settling in panicked clueless, Mino hears multiple voices and growls before seeing them.

"KEEP YOUR DISTANCE!"

"DON'T LET HIM DRAW YOUR BLOOD. IF YOU GET INJURED, GET FUCKING BACK!!"

"THREE MEN DOWN! I REPEAT, THREE MEN DOWN!!!"

What is happening? Why are people coming at them? The tail whips away another attack, so close Mino can feel the air sliced, taking Mino by surprise. His brain can't keep up with the commotions.

At the corner of his eye, Mino hears a rustle from a branch overhead, and—

_SWOOP!!_

Before he knows it, blood splatters across his face. Wide-eyed, Mino stares at the blood gushing out of the hole on the red man's face. Like a bullet wound. Like the red man had just been shot. 

In the face.

Colour drains from Mino's face. It was a gun with a silencer. Mino watches movies a lot but to see it with his own eyes... 

For a moment, there's a beat of silence as the red man wobbles on his feet and.

And regains his balance with the right foot at the back. The spine is slowly erected, as if the awakening of a monster and Mino watches in horrified disbelief while the torn flesh, the broken pieces of the skull, even strands of hair and blood are reconstructed, one by one at a time.

What the...

"A piece of shit." Mino can hear the mocking smirk in his tone. 

Then chaos erupts. Panicked voices overlap one another, "What the fuck?" and "This can't be true," and "Shit, we're fucking doomed now," and "Immortal…"

Immortal—what. The fact that the red man has two tails slashing around like weapons is already mind-boggling, and now he can't die? Mino can't understand shit.

All of a sudden, the red man claws his own arm, from the elbow, till it draws blood, lots of them, with a pained hiss. Instead of dripping down, the blood floats around in the air, then spreads apart in the form of daggers.

Bloody daggers, circling around. Ready to attack at the first command.

Mino can't even blink when they surge forward, embedding deep in the unfortunate individuals in the path. Agonized screams hit Mino's eardrums. One by one, men drop dead on the ground, some from the trees even.

During the chaos, Mino barely catches a blurry person launching forward at the red man, and hears someone shout, "Youngbae-sunbae!"

As quick as lightning, the Youngbae guy swipes a knife aiming at the jugular while the red man is distracted by the shout. 

But the red man is quick enough to parry the knife with a shield made of blood. Another knife attack—no, two, wait, three attacks are stopped, high and low swipes. And he subsequently sneaks a tail attack from behind. The Youngbae guy jumps away in time then throws knives at the man—

"MINO!!!"

The shout has Mino looking up, only to see his housemate, Jinu, lurching down at him, wings at the back—

Wait, what.

"YOUR HAND!!!" Jinu holds out his hand.

The sudden disruption from the air has the restraint around him loosening, and Mino wriggles his hand out. As far as he can. With gritting teeth, desperate.

"No—" the man breathes, alerted.

And Jinu snatches him out of the restraint, just a second before the tail tightens around nothing. In a split second, Mino sees despair cross over the man's face.

"NOW!"

At the scream, then only Mino realizes the Youngbae guy has removed himself from the red man, and he watches in horror from the sky, in Jinu's arms, as guns and long-ranged weapons are trained on the red man.

And.

Gunshots. Loud. Deafening. Rain of bullets. The dark woods are lit by the firing. Mino pales watching the red man pierced by bullets, by—

The red man holds out his hand, palm up, while the other arm protects his face, despite his body being repeatedly pierced, and hovering over it is a ball of red liquid. Not dark. Bright. As if it is lit from the inside. As if.

"Firework," the man says.

Then.

Bright. Too bright it's blinding.

Like an explosion of a firework in a close range and Mino screws, his eyes shut, clasping tight at Jinu's shirt. Then comes the sound, loud and deafening.

And the last one, the scariest among them all, the impact. 

Too powerful that it sends him and Jinu flying away till they hit something on the back, hard. Painful. The pain is blinding as darkness encroaches around his vision like dots.

The last thing he sees before succumbing to darkness is bat-like red wings slicing the air.

  
  


...

  
  


"What's your name?"

The magenta eyes dart around as the kid hums, thinking. The pale skin makes those eyes stand out. Impossible to miss them.

"—Yoon—"

And he's startled awake to the bright light on the ceiling. Too bright. His eyes sting. Mino snaps his eyes closed then he takes his time to get used to the brightness.

Mino looks around. White walls, bleak-looking curtains, a medical bed on his right side. He glances over his own body—a medical gown, and uh oh, he's lying in a medical bed himself. That explains the hospital smell he's smelling.

He tries to brush his hair with his left hand, only to find it's cuffed to the bed rail.

Uhm... What.

The door opens. A man comes in with a smile. He says, "Thank goodness you're awake."

Mino blinks. Opens his chapped lips to speak. Then ditches the idea because his throat feels like sandpaper. Turning his head, he finds a glass of water on the bedside table.

"Thirsty?" The man kindly helps him with the water. Mino's eyes glance over the nametag on the man's chest. Jihoon. Probably the nurse.

"...Thanks," Mino manages. "Where...?"

The Jihoon guy presses a button on the side, and the head of the bed elevates. "You're in the medical wing of our headquarters. You were unconscious for eight hours. We were worried."

"Head...quarters?" Mino frowns. It's difficult to think when the fog in his brain hasn't dissipated. 

"Yes. Taketori Organization—an organization that supervises anomalies." At Mino's bewildered look, he asks, concerned, "Can you recall anything, sir?"

"Wait, let me just—"

He tries. Thinking hard.

And a wave of memories comes crashing back—blood, dead bodies, screaming, bright red Higanbana, magenta eyes—and Mino flinches. He also remembers Jinu-hyung. Jinu with white wings tinged blue at the tip—

"I, uh," Min says, breathless, wide-eyed, his hands shaky. The handcuff rattles. "Jinu-hyung—where? Where's Jinu-hyung?"

"Kim Jinwoo-sshi is fine."

Mino tugs at the handcuff weakly. "Why am I being handcuffed? What—"

"For security purposes, sir."

If this was a movie, he'd have struggled like any dramatic actor. Would've broken the cuff apart like a toothpick. But this wasn't, so he pleads, exhausted, "I didn't do anything—I'm a victim too. I don't know that guy—I'm innocent, please."

The Jihoon guy offers him a reassuring smile. "I believe you, sir. Please calm down. The doctor is coming to check on you."

Odd, it's just a smile. Given by a stranger. But it feels familiar. This stranger feels familiar. Like there's a pull on a string inside him that he isn't aware of. A string from the past.

  
  


"Yeah, okay. Thanks—I just—"

Exhaustion pulls him under, and Mino is asleep. 

  
  


...

  
  


"Just Yoon?"

"No. Kang Seungyoon."

  
  


...

  
  


He's bombarded with questions the next day. 

By the doctor first. To check up on his condition. Mino likes him. Warm eyes obscured by his smiles. A playful person, Kang Daesung-soensaengnim. Often inserts jokes in between his medical remarks to keep the atmosphere light.

As soon as the doctor gives them his green light, Mino gets interrogated ruthlessly. Fortunately, he has Jinu by his side, or he'd have gone crazy. Being free from the handcuffs helps too.

"I don't understand, hyung, what did I do?" Mino asks, frustrated, once the interrogators leave him alone with Jinu.

Jinu rubs a circle on Mino's back. "I'm sorry you have to go through this. I need you to know that the situation is grave. Jiwon-sunbae and Kyung-hyung are just doing their job."

"I just—" Mino rubs his sore wrist, red from the handcuffs. "I can't follow shit. Everything was too sudden. One moment I was doing my commission, and the next I was in the middle of a battlefield. Blood everywhere. People died in front of me. And that red man—"

"I'm sorry, Mino."

Mino sneaks a peek at Jinu under his lashes. "And who are you? You have wings. You can fly. I—what are you, hyung?"

Jinu looks conflicted. Moves his gaze down on the floor. Bites his bottom lip. "I'm sorry, Mino. My real identity must be hidden from public knowledge—it's law."

"But I deserve to know, right? Since we’re housemates. Since this shit happened to me?"

A sigh leaves Jinu. "I suppose you do."

And Mino spends the next half an hour listening to Jinu's explanation. Only to suffer from more confusion because of uhm, anomalies? Abnormal genetics? Superpowers? No, he can't digest them all. Those are creations from imagination.

Mino finds himself unable to believe Jinu.

"Look, Mino. You saw the man, right? And what he could do." At that, Mino reluctantly nods. It isn't something he can refute. Jinu carries on. "Now, how about these?"

On cue, Mino hears something tear and a pained whimper from Jinu, like he's in pain, and before Mino can process anything, white wings stretch gracefully behind Jinu. With the gradient of blue at the tip. 

Remind Mino of the skies. Of clouds. Like an angel. Mino is fascinated. 

"Beautiful." Mino can't help saying. His fingers twitch longing to touch those beautiful feathers.

"Well." Jinu rubs his nose, gaze sliding to the side. Mino notices those wings flapping a little.

Uh-huh.

The door is flung open. Two people, a man and a woman stride in, confidence clicking loudly in their heels.

The woman is beautiful. A fine figure. Not too skinny nor too chubby. Looks comfortable in her own skin. She makes the suit look beautiful on her. Mino's gaze is fixated on her beauty mark on the chin, charmed.

Meanwhile, the man has a sharp gaze, speaking volumes about his masculinity despite the effeminate face. From a quick glance, Mino spots a smiley tattoo near the thumb when the man fixes his tie. There's an aura about him that Mino can't name.

"Sunbaenim!" Jinu springs to his feet almost immediately, knocking the chair down in his haste. He bows deep at them.

"At ease," the man says. Jinu raises his head but keeps his eyes lowered. 

A sight to behold, really. Mino has never seen Jinu-hyung being meek, used to Jinu being savage. This simply hints Mino at his being clueless of the double life Jinu is living in.

Urgh, depressing.

"We haven't known each other yet." The man offers a handshake once he's at the bedside. "I'm Kwon Jiyong, and this is my partner, Lee Chaerin."

Hesitantly, Mino returns the handshake. At the first brush of fingers on the man's palm, Mino feels a surge of electricity. Quick. Sudden. Takes Mino by surprise that he releases the handshake quickly.

Mino alternates a confused look at the man and his own palm back and forth. The man keeps his polite smile on.

"I'm, uh, Song Minho."

"So we've been told. We've listened to the recording of your questioning, and we'd like to confirm something. Is that alright?"

"In short, more questioning." Mino pouts, earning a slight chuckle from the woman. "Go ahead. I've got nothing to do anyway. It's not like you're going to let me walk away any time soon."

Jinu gestures at the chair. "Sunbaenim, the chair."

"Thanks for the offer." The man accepts the gesture. Jinu returns to his position, hands behind, chest up. Like a soldier.

The man opens the buttons of his suit to get comfortable. Jesus, even his simple movement screams charisma. While the woman takes a seat on the foot of the bed after getting a nod from Mino. 

The man continues, "You mentioned that you found Wretched Blood in the basement. Is that correct?"

"Wretched Blood?"

"The man who took you away."

"Ah, the red man. His outfit, y' know."

The woman chuckles, amused. "That's cute."

Embarrassment burns Mino's face. He wonders if he can find a place to hide himself. Even the man is amused by his childish remark.

"You also told my agents about a prison made of broken shards." The man returns to their topic.

"Yes."

"Then he suddenly woke up?"

"Yes."

The man tilts his head, a wince escaping him. Unsatisfied by the answer. He puts his fingers on the lips, thinking. Then. 

"Can you recall anything happened right before he awoke? Perhaps something broke into pieces, like a shield. Or magical glow upon your entering the basement. Or you hurt yourself and dropped your blood?"

"I don't...." Mino stares at his open palm. And a thought crosses his mind. "My palm—I remember I got my palm injured. I don't know if it bled, but I did touch him—his face, his neck? I'm not sure."

The woman takes Mino's hand into hers, palm up. She checks his hand back and forth. Traces dainty fingers on the skin. "I don't see a scar. No hint of it getting cut, either. A cut wound shouldn't heal this quickly."

"Quick regeneration—the trait of an Anomaly." The man concludes. Grimly. The warmth in his eyes vanishes. It rings an alarm in Mino.

Jinu leans closer. "Are you certain, sunbaenim? I mean no disrespect, but if Mino ever was an Anomaly, I'd have known. We're housemates."

The woman rises from the bed. "He is, indeed, an Anomaly. His blood test proved my hypothesis. His story confirmed it. And he's the one we've been looking for, described in many transcripts. The cursed one who would wake Wretched Blood from his long sleep."

"No way..." Jinu breathes in disbelief.

From Jinu's panicked expression, Mino realizes this doesn't sound good even if he can't follow them. No, 'not good' isn't good enough. This is a shitstorm. For some reason, he dreads the man's next word.

Dreads that it might alter his life forever.

"Song Minho-sshi, you're Curse Blood."


	3. Chapter 3

This is absurd, Kwon Jiyong thinks as he slumps down in a chair in the meeting room. Tired. Annoyed. He has no time for this shit. They have another pressing issue to be dealt with.

For instance, Cursed Blood downstairs.

But of course, the board members wish to know the reports, the statistics, the damaged properties—things that could've been obtained from the intelligence centre themselves in a matter of seconds. 

Urgh, Jiyong resists from rolling his eyes.

"Don't make it too obvious," Chaerin pitches in, taking a seat, ready for the meeting conference. Jiyong spins his chair in response, a show of small tantrum, like a child.

More executives join them at the table. Minzy and Bom from the Intelligence Division. Daesung from the Support and Medical Unit. Then there's Tabi, the crazy hyung, from the Raid Regiment. 

And his best friend since diapers, Youngbae from the Tactical Force. Also, the only person in the team who exchanged fists with Wretched Blood face to face.

Missing two people, but it's sufficient at the moment.

"So, Youngbae. My Youngbae." Tabi crosses his ankles on the table. Like a boss. "How it feels to be the chosen one?"

"What chosen one?" Youngbae rubs his tired face, his windbreaker rustling as he moves. Exhausted. Perhaps stressed over the incident.

"That you punched Wretched Blood."

"From what I heard, hyung got punched instead." Daesung throws in, eyes on the report in his hands.

"Excuse you," Youngbae turns to Daesung, slightly offended, "I punched him. Not the other way round."

"I can go through the feeds," Minzy casually suggests. "Unless you buy me melon bread. Bommie-unnie, is that okay, me going through the feeds?"

"Go ahead," Bom sing-songs, tapping the document on the table to keep the pile neat. "Oh, oh, Nana Bakery. I heard they sell the best melon bread. Long queues, limited products."

"Don't you dare—wait, did you just—" Youngbae swivels his chair in Jiyong's direction, with a frown. "Did I just get threatened by Minzy, and Bommie-nonna let her be?"

"Yep," Jiyong affirms, supported by Chaerin, who's amused by the whole thing.

Youngbae gives him a look. "And you're not going to do anything?"

"Nope. It's fun to see you getting tormented by a girl younger than you." Jiyong raises his plain water, with a smirk and a raised brow. "Classy entertainment. My all-time favourite."

"I—" Because Youngbae was raised with good manners, instilled by his strict father, he retracts, with much difficulty, "I hate you so much, Ji. So, so much."

"Love you too, brother."

The wall-mounted monitors switch online. Not all board members are present—only three of them, one on each screen. Aha, talk about the gravity of the situation, Jiyong snorts at that.

"Wretched Blood," the man in the middle demands, and it's understood right away.

Bom quickly puts on her professional hat. "Origin unknown. Able to manipulate blood at his will. Rumoured to be immortal, but this has been confirmed by Youngbae-sshi who had encountered Wretched Blood himself. After the encounter, Wretched Blood was reported missing. My team is still working on tracking his whereabouts."

"Blood manipulation? Immortality?" the woman on the right side leans closer.

"Yes," Youngbae confirms, "My guy shot him in the face, and he healed himself like it was nothing. Also, I believe his ability is beyond what was reported in the transcript."

"How." Tabi tips his head.

"He drew blood from my guys. And made his blood explode like a firework. I was lucky I managed to survive," Youngbae shrugs.

"How is that possible?" The last board member asks. "From my understanding, Anomalies can only manipulate the abnormal cells in their own body. To draw blood from others—doesn't that debunk the whole Anomaly theory?"

"Actually," Chaerin rises from her chair. Rounds the table until she reaches Tabi's chair. "Anomaly has two categories; Normal and Rare breed. Seunghyun-sshi belongs to the first category—ability limited within his body capabilities. Tons of research has been done to this category."

Tabi salutes goofily.

"Then there's the rare breed, and our Jiyong belongs to this category." Chaerin gestures her hand at Jiyong. He returns it with a nod of his head. "Blessed with an ability that allows him to manipulate nature. Only a few are gifted with this breed ability. Not many are known out there."

"You are claiming Wretched Blood is the rare breed?" The man questions.

"A bit of both," Minzy cuts in. "Wretched Blood can control his own blood and his enemy's blood. Like he can control the abnormal part of his body and the foreign part as well."

"That doesn't seem to make our situation any better," the woman sighs.

"Nope, it doesn't," Minzy agrees.

"I have a question," Jiyong says, with a frown, after long contemplation, "Bae confirmed that he's an immortal, with insane abilities, yes? Then why—" he bites his bottom lip, "—Why did he leave Cursed Blood behind?"

Youngbae blinks.

Jiyong tries again. "No offence to your team, Bae, but Wretched Blood could've wiped your entire team clean. Could've brought Cursed Blood out of there. But he didn't. He left Cursed Blood behind, who is clearly the key to all the shitstorm. So why? What stopped him from doing so?"

"The Bewitching Hours," Bom offers suddenly.

Daesung tilts his head, confused. "Pardon?"

"In the Karakuri transcript, the Bewitching Hours was mentioned. It was stated that it's the only period where Wretched Blood is at his weakest point."

"We tracked the Tactical Force for research purposes," Minzy adds, "And we noticed that the encounter happened somewhere between 0023 until 0104. According to the transcript, the Bewitching Hours happen between 0000 until 0300."

"Wow, my boys and I would be grateful if you told us earlier—like before we fought Wretched Blood," Youngbae deadpans.

"We had no way to test the theory," Bom protests, "My division couldn't take all the information in the transcripts at face value. We could face overloaded information, then."

"And in our defence, we never encounter Wretched Blood face to face. So, yeah," Minzy defends.

"Youngbae-hyung didn't either until he had to. Getting punched in the face. Epic," Daesung chuckles.

"Oh, look," Tabi throws in, "Youngbae was the first one to punch Wretched Blood back. He paved the way!"

"I swear to god..." Youngbae reclines against his chair, resigned.

Chaerin, always the calm one among the crazy members, steers them back to the topic, "The Bewitching Hours, a mixture of both breeds, and immortality. Any other information we should be aware of?"

"Under investigation," Bom says, and that's the end of it.

"How about Cursed Blood?" the woman asks. "I was informed he's still under our custody. Who is he? How is he related to Wretched Blood?"

"I shall take this part." It's Daesung's turn to present. "Song Minho, Cursed Blood. 27 years old. Was an art school graduate before he worked as an art restorer, under The West company."

"Anything else?" Jiyong presses.

"Surprisingly, I found nothing about him," Daesung winces a little at the end.

"Nothing?" Tabi raises a brow.

"Nothing that I can relate him to Wretched Blood and Anomaly." Daesung flips the report to the next page. And makes a disappointed face. "Born in a family of four. Graduated from an art school, and continued his study in fine arts. Hates outdoor activities. In student debt still. He was living a normal life. Nothing that warrants our attention."

"But his blood test stated that he's an Anomaly," Youngbae argues.

Daesung pulls a grin. "And that's the only thing that doesn't make any sense. I went through his medical history from the moment he was born—none of them identified him as an Anomaly. Not to mention, none of his family members is an Anomaly. Even the National Medical report identified him and his family as Norms."

The National Medical Check-up; a medical check-up performed by the Taketori organization in order to detect any Anomaly potential at the early age. Since Anomalies have their genes passed down through generations, it is fairly easy to detect and keep track on the potential generations.

Which the Song family had passed, with flying colours. It just adds more confusion.

"So... he suddenly became an Anomaly like... yesterday?" Tabi scratches his head, puzzled.

"I wish I had the explanation." Daesung tosses the report on the table, frustrated.

"Don't you have descriptions about Cursed Blood in the transcripts?" The middle man prods.

"Unfortunately, not much," Bom has the similarly frustrated expression as Daesung's. "All 3 transcripts in our possession, most of them only described Wretched Blood."

"Then how did you confirm Cursed Blood's involvement in this? As far as we know, he could've been an unfortunate civilian," the left male accuses. 

Silence dawns in the meeting room. The accusation of the incompetence hangs heavily in the air. It has Bom and Minzy lowering their gazes. Discouraged by the accusation after delivering so much for them.

"The Higanbana transcript, the last sentence. It wrote—" Jiyong says at last, almost bored. "—and in the eye centre of the storm, created by Wretched Blood, there stood Cursed Blood. Coated in blood and regret."

A beat of silence. Then, "And you believe that?"

"With all due respect, sir," Jiyong stands up, fixing his suit buttons. Then looks straight in the eye. "As far as I am concerned, we could be facing an apocalypse. Therefore, I can't afford to take anything lightly. Much less the transcripts, which are our sole source of information to stop Wretched Blood from wiping out humanity. Anything written in those transcripts will be investigated thoroughly for the sake of humanity. If you have more trustworthy sources, please share with us, and we will gladly look into them."

And he leaves. Leaves from the meeting room despite the disastifaction tangled in his chest. Jiyong leaves because he's done wasting time. Done entertaining the higher-up's interests. Because he needs to look into Cursed Blood as soon as possible.

He stops dead in his track. Stares out of the high window. At the army of clouds hovering over the skyscrapers. Feels a ball of coldness in his gut.

Cursed Blood, Song Minho—that guy is bad news. That something evil lurks around him, cold and distant and dark. 

Like death.

Jiyong shakes his head. Time to meet his beloved, then.

  
  


...

  
  


Mino has lost track of days, the sense of time dulled by the tight security created by the white room, located in the middle of the observation room. All eyes are on him. Read him every movement. Studies his pattern. Perform tests as though they expect different results. 

Bruises bloom across his arms like flowers in the early morning. Only to get healed in the afternoon, thanks to his so-called quick regeneration. It still amazes him to see the bruises receding quickly.

Urgh, how Mino wishes he had it in the younger days. He wouldn't have ugly scars littered across his body, then. 

"Hey." 

A voice has Mino looking up from his palms to the contact window. Behind it is Jinu-hyung, looking healthy. The sight alone, a slightest of a smile on Jinu's handsome face, is enough to warm Mino's chest.

"Hyung." 

Mino rushes, a hand on the glass, longing for human touch after getting shoved into this white room. Though, he's halted by the glass. Cold. It's depressing, really. Mino retracts his hand back to his side. Clutches his front shirt to get rid of this tightness in his chest.

Jinu must have picked up on that because his gaze softens. Yet he doesn't comment on it—perhaps for Mino's sake. Instead, he asks, "Have you eaten?"

"Yea—yes," Mino hastily answers, eager to have a conversation. A normal conversation that doesn't revolve around that red man. "I eat so well here. They provide breakfast. Uhm, even supper—yes, hyung, do you believe it? I get to eat supper here! I mean, I barely got to feed myself before, and now, wow! I had milk and cookies for supper!!"

As soon as he finishes blurting out his meal schedule, silence reigns. A drop of awkwardness falls between them. The smile on Jinu's face doesn't reach his eyes, and yeah, okay, Mino gets it.

Right, he sounds so petty. Desperate. Pathetic.

"I—"

"I'm sorry this happened to you," Jinu cuts him off.

Mino falls silent, head hanging low.

"If I knew—" Jinu stops himself, eyes down. A sigh escapes him. The heavy one. "No, I don't think I could do anything even if I knew. I just—"

"What is going to happen to me, hyung?"

Jinu opens his mouth. Closes it shut. Taken aback by the question. Then he shakes his head. "I don't know."

"How long are they going to keep me here? How many tests are they going to perform on me? What are they looking for?"

"Something." Finally, the last question. A question that Jinu can answer. "Something that can help us find Wretched Blood—"

"The red man." Mino lifts his eyes.

A chuckle slips past Jinu's lips, amused. "Yes, the red man."

Though, Mino can't find humour in that. Not when he's being treated like a criminal. Like a rat lab. He looks straight in the eyes. "I don't know him."

"I know you don't—"

"I don't know him, hyung."

"I believe you, Mino—"

"I really really don't know him."

"You two are related somehow—"

"I!" Mino raises his voice, frustrated with everything, "Don't! Fucking! Know! HIM!!!"

His furious scream hangs in the air. Heavy. Depressing. Even Jinu stares at him in complete shock. People say screaming can release the bottled-up frustration inside of him, but, fuck, it doesn't work.

No, it doesn't fucking work.

Instead, he feels overwhelmed with raw emotions. So much so he rests his forehead on the glass. His head feels heavy. His insides feel twisted. Frustrated. Betrayed. Mino clenches his eyes shut in his attempt to hold back the tears.

"Mino..." Jinu's voice is a whisper, wrapped in guilt and helplessness.

"Will everything—" Mino swallows thickly. "Will everything be okay again?"

Jinu tries to meet Mino's eyes but fails as Mino keeps his eyes lowered. "I'm sorry, Mino. I wish I could promise you something. I wish—"

Mino rubs his teary eyes with the heel of his palm. Then nods, understanding. "Okay. That's okay. Just—can you, at least, let my family know that I'm okay? I mean, after everything—and I haven't contacted them, and that red man—"

A beat of silence. A shuddering sigh leaves Mino. A sign of resignation and exhaustion. Resigned to the bizarre fate forced upon him.

"I need to know if they're okay too,"

Jinu frowns at him. Bites his inner cheek. Then says, "Mino-ya, about that. A team was sent to locate your family. They're tracking your family as we speak."

A flicker of hope. A silver lining among dark clouds. Mino casts a hopeful look on Jinu. Finally, good news. Maybe this isn't a shitshow, after all. He can see his parents. He can see Danah again. With a bit of luck, perhaps he can see his princess, Jhonny too.

"But you're not allowed to speak to your family, nor make any contact with them, considering your relation with Wretched Blood—"

The fuck. Mino widens his eyes, anger tuning out the rest of Jinu's sentence. His blood boils. What the fucking fuck. What—

Furious, Mino thumps the glass. Hard. But because it's bulletproof, the impact isn't as strong as he expected, and that fuels his anger. Mino thumps the heel of his palm on the glass again. 

And again and again and again.

"What the fucking FUCK—" Mino erupts, his voice at the top of his lungs, losing it completely, "You fucking imprisoned me! You performed tests on me! You interrogated me! You—"

A ruckus. People hurry about the observation room. It even draws Jinu's attention as Jinu swivels around, asking for clues. Mino stares, puzzled as he struggles to catch his breath again after that outburst.

All of a sudden, the monitors in the observation room change view. It's like in the movies Mino often watches; a bit of 'bzzt' and the channel changes. Even the one in the white room, mounted on the wall. 

A view of—

Red spider lily. Higanbana, floating in the cornflower blue skies. Huge. And dripping, dripping and dripping.

Blood.

Mesmerizing. It's beautiful, Mino thinks. Drawing him in. Into the redness of its dripping petals. Into a sense of familiarity.

Under the floating flower, the live-feeds broadcast a lone man strutting to the front gate of the facility. A red outfit, military boots, belts wrapped at certain places. And that light hair and those magenta eyes.

Recognition settles in Mino's eyes. It's the man from the woods.

"I've come—" the man says, with a sharp smirk, his voice ringing across the facility. Cold. Demanding.

As if to warn people he'd make his desire come true regardless of the cost. And Mino knows, for some reason, the man wouldn't stop at nothing to get what he wants. Knows it from the broken strings of the past—

"—to take back what belongs to me."

Mino's heart skips a beat.

**Author's Note:**

> yandere!Yoon, why not? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> i blame yoon cult for this. no, jk.
> 
> [@_hit0shi](https://twitter.com/_hit0shi) on twitter


End file.
